The Nine Ways Debra Morgan Dies
by Gayani
Summary: Pretty much what it sounds like. But still Team Deb! Series of short one shots. Mostly canon, but there is some messing with timelines involved. Rated M for Deb's language
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A string of ficlets inspired by Jennifer Carpenter's statement in EW/Zap2It about how she would like to see Deb die. I don't agree with that, but felt bitten by the writing bug and had to explore. These will obviously lean dark, but there may be some opportunities for levity. Hope you enjoy!

The sun was beating down, bouncing blindingly off of the ice blue waves and forcing all the beachgoers to squint. Dexter had spent all morning chasing his little sister Debra around. Back and forth they ran along the shore. Sometimes venturing into the surf, but usually getting called back by one of the adults. Now it was after lunch, all the grownups asleep.

Deb too was lying back on her blanket, half dozing. Dexter took his opportunity and got quietly off his towel. He walked down the beach, finally making it to the small alcove he had seen from a distance. The sand had been beaten around here. Turning into small dunes and twisting into a private place. At least one big enough for a small child.

Dexter slipped into the quiet space. Pondering the last animal he had taken, and wondering if he could find one to take care of here, he didn't notice his sister in his shadow.

"What are you doing?"

Dexter jumped at the sound of her voice, annoyed and confused. "Go back Deb. You're supposed to be taking a nap."

"But I wanted to see what you were doing." Deb rubbed her eyes sleepily.

"Nothing. Just didn't feel like sleeping. Now go back."

But instead of listening, Deb stepped into the space with him. Their small bodies hidden by the sand heaps. She sat down in the space and made herself comfortable.

"This is nice."

"Yeah, but it's not for you, so just go back ok?"

"Just cause you're older and bigger than me doesn't make you my boss dumbass."

Dexter rolled his eyes, plopping down into the sand. He debated going back, but this quiet spot with Deb annoying him seemed better than the busy beach.

They had been sitting there not more than ten minutes when the waves started to pick up. The water was already very close in this area, but now it was gaining momentum. The wind picking up was causing the waves to crash strongly. Dexter wondered briefly if they should return. But Deb didn't look too bothered, so he left it.

But then there was a wave, much larger than the others. It swept in, hitting Debra's side and grabbing onto her as if it had fingers. Deb yelped and Dexter sat up straight as he watched his little sister being dragged into the water.

"Dex!" Deb was reaching out her hand, her eyes open wide, panic in her face.

And Dexter started to reach for it. But then he stopped. There was a moment when Deb looked at him. It was as if she knew there was no help to be had.

Dexter knew he should still grab onto her. He knew he still could. She wasn't too far yet, and he was a good swimmer. He almost wanted to. But then the water was pulling her further and Deb's head was bobbing under the surface. And instead, Dexter waited. And watched.

It didn't take long. Not as long as he had expected anyways. She didn't have any time to scream for anyone else. She was too small to pull away by herself. And that was it. It was done.

Deb came back to shore. But it wasn't really Deb anymore. Dexter looked down at his feet, staring at her hand lying limp against the sand. Her eyes were closed.

Dexter trembled.


	2. Chapter 2

She was bored that Saturday and just wanted a little company. Dexter would have to do; Dad was working, as usual. But teenaged Dex was…weird. Still, better than nothing. Debra made her way downstairs, searching through the rooms, going outside, finally hearing noise coming from behind the big tree in the back yard.

It was a tight spot for Dexter to be settled into. They hadn't played behind it since they were small kids. But Deb didn't wonder too much as she made her way over. Even the noise was peculiar, but somehow she didn't notice.

She could see him now, just his one shoulder. Moving in quick bursts as he hovered over something. Perhaps gardening, Debra thought.

She didn't bother to announce herself. Thought giving Dexter a little scare would be amusing. So up she snuck behind him, and ever so slowly she leaned over him. But the scare was hers to be had.

Deb gasped and froze. This was no gardening job. Blood, shiny and bright, covering the ground, the matted fur of some neighborhood animal and Dexter's hands.

And just as suddenly as she had seen it, Dexter was turned looking at her. Their eyes met and Deb stumbled back two paces. Her mouth opened and closed, attempting to find some words to string into some statement. But what that statement was she couldn't figure out.

"Deb…You weren't supposed to see." Dexter whispered.

"Fuck. I can see that." Deb spat. With that she turned.

And Dexter panicked. His arm shot out, grabbing onto her, spinning her back to see him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm calling Dad. He needs to know what the fuck you're doing." Deb twisted away again and Dexter's mind turned over that statement.

He had promised Harry, no more neighborhood animals. That was what the hunting trips were for. He couldn't let Deb call.

"Deb, please. Just don't tell dad." Dex followed behind her, still reaching towards her.

"Fuck that. This is insane!" Deb continued to stalk towards the house as she swiped at the blood smear Dexter had left on her arm.

Dexter was stepping through the back door as he watched Deb lift the phone and dial the number.

"Deb you can't!" Dexter could feel his heart race. This was what it was to be scared.

"Dad?" Deb's back was turned and Dexter reached out grabbed onto her arm and spun her around, pulling her close to him.

Her eyes widened and her breath left her in a whoosh. Dexter frowned and watched as Deb looked down to her chest. His eyes followed and found the knife he had been using buried to the hilt.

The blood was already spreading across her tshirt. They looked up at each other and Dex watched the life slip out of her eyes. She fell limp in his arms, the phone clattering to the floor.

Dex held onto her, the knife still in her chest. Frozen in time and space he wondered what he had done. All he could hear was the voice coming through the phone line. "Debra?! DEB!"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for reading! How excited is everyone for Sunday?!

"_I prepared her just the way you like. This time we'll do it together."_

"_Does it have to be Deb?"_

"_It's the only way."_

"_But she's my…"_

"_Fake sister. I know."_

Deb could just barely make out the voices. She couldn't tell if it was a dream or where she was. She tried to open her eyes, but she felt dragged under. As if she was being sat on by an elephant. This heaviness bore through her and left her helpless. She wavered between desperately wanting to open her eyes and allowing them to stay closed so she could drift off.

But the voices were getting clearer. And wasn't that Dexter? What was Dexter doing? And who was that with him…Rudy? But why? It wasn't making sense. Deb couldn't get her brain geared up to make it fit together.

She concentrated, or tried at least. Where had she been last? The boat? No…there was more. There was…oh. That. Fucking Rudy. Fucking Ice Truck Killer. What the Fuck.

She still couldn't move, still couldn't figure out how to wake up. But this thought wouldn't go away. She was fucking the Ice Truck Killer?! How had she let this happen?

Then she realized; Dexter was here with her and Fucking Rudy. What was that asshole going to do to her brother? She had to stop him. She had to find a way to wake up and stop him.

Her eyes flickered. The voices were getting louder. She could wake up. She was sure. She just had to fight. There had to be a way.

She could hear Rudy's voice. That was enough to piss her off. Deb fought again, her eyes opening a bit more, her vision blurred, but she could see the two of them, there off to the side.

"_I can't. Not Deb."_

"_Oh no no no no. Don't. Don't say that" _

Deb felt impending doom. If Dexter was there, standing next to her, why didn't he save her? She could feel it now. Something tying her naked body to this cold table. He should cut her free. Why didn't he? Was Rudy threatening him?

Deb fought harder. And there! Her eyes opened. So briefly, but more focused than before, until they slipped closed again.

"_I'm very ….fond of her."_

"_You can't be a killer and a hero. IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY!"_

That was Rudy, the fucking asswipe. Anger fueling her, she pushed all her strength behind it and opened her eyes. She locked onto Dexter who stood there limply and met her gaze. And then from the corner of her eye she saw the glint off the knife as it raised and came down.

Pain sliced through her. She would have screamed if she could have found the strength. But just as suddenly as the pain came, it went. And she felt all of it slipping away once again. The elephant returned, resting more heavily and her eyes closed. The last thing she saw was her brother watching her intently, one tear slipping down his cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a perfect night. Until that moment at least. And sure Debra Morgan was a fuck up, but she knew and accepted that. Anyways, wouldn't Anton be expecting this? He was already jealous enough to begin with. Turns out he had a right to be.

But now as she fell to her knees and felt the hard jolt through her body when they met the asphalt she was glad she had done it. Maybe this was her punishment. But somehow it seemed worth it. Because Lundy was it. He was who she had looked for. And he shouldn't have left. But he came back. Ok, maybe not entirely for her. But he came back.

And they had one final moment of glory.

And now it was gone. She was already lying against the parking lot surface when he collapsed in front of her. She hadn't even heard the shot that took him down. But she could see he was slipping away.

She wanted to tell him not to go. That he had promised. But she couldn't seem to speak. She tried so hard. She just wanted to tell him she loved him. Just once more.

But he was gone now. And she was left alone in this deserted parking lot, dying. The fucktard that had done this was gone. She had heard them running away. And it was so late…or maybe so early…that she didn't think help would come. At least not in time.

It wasn't so bad actually. Didn't hurt all that much. She wondered vaguely what the bullet had hit. But then she supposed, none of that shit really mattered anymore.

This was some sort of fucked up romantic shit though. Dying with your lover. Victims of some shithead. Rather poetic end to her shithole of a life.

There were the bright spots of course. Lundy. Dexter. Dexter's happy family. So there was something. And she had done some good. Gotten rid of a few bad guys, saved a couple lives. Not too bad. Even if she was dying far too young.

Masuka would say she was leaving a hot corpse. Guess that wasn't such a bad thing. Better than dying alone for sure. Better than going like her mom did.

All in all this was ok. Miami Metro would find her killer and bring them to justice. And Dexter would be ok now that he had Rita and the kids. Nothing much to worry about when removing her from the world. While that was mildly depressing, Deb didn't feel the need to have thousands of mourners at her funeral. She knew a few people would truly care and miss her and somehow that was enough.

So yes, since this was her time to go, she could accept it. She had gone through enough in her short life. Didn't seem such a bad thing to move onto wherever was next. Hopefully she'd like it better. Hell couldn't be so bad right?

And with that thought, Debra Morgan let go of her last breath.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: About half way through this little experiment. I'm enjoying myself, are you? :)

Just another fucking ordinary day in a city filled with fucking lunatics. Debra Morgan always knew Miamians were insane. But this DDK shit was bringing all the crazies out of the woodwork. She had only a matter of days left, then the fucking world would end. Supposedly.

Actually, she welcomed it. Sounded like a pretty good fucking idea to her. She wasn't normally suicidal, despite that joke about her solve rate. But if someone else wanted to take this shit piece of world out of existence, who was she to say fuck? Given the state of her life it didn't seem so bad.

Maybe she had been spending too much time with the therapist. On the one hand it was good to talk about it all. But on the other, it was just fucking depressing. She managed pretty well when she didn't spend her time thinking about all the shit she had been through. But to sit there and discuss it with someone? There was a reason Debra wasn't fucking self-reflective. It was really a method of self-preservation. Because her life would make most people go crazy. She was pretty fucking sure she was there already.

Deb walked through her department, into her office and had barely recovered from yet another LaGuerta lecture when the officer poked his head in. A break in the case seemed fucking unlikely, but then this woman said wormwood and well didn't that change everything. Pushing away all the other errant thoughts, Deb pulled focus back to DDK. Catching the fucker, that's what she did best. Most of the time.

She went out to the bullpen, grabbed the wide eyed woman and led her into interrogation. With any luck this was a real lead and not some other crazed out whack job. She frankly couldn't take any more of that. She would have gladly handed it off to Angel. Maybe even Quinn, make the fucker do something productive for once in his fucked up life. But no, this was a specific request for her. God knows why. This is why she didn't like doing the press conferences.

She opened the door to the conference room and led the woman inside. By the time she turned around the woman already had the door closed behind them. She was moving a chair to block the handle. Stranger than that however, was the plume of smoke coming from the woman's backpack.

Deb took a good look at her eyes for the first time. Fuck. Yeah, definitely bonkers. Deb dove towards her, attempting to push her away and get to the door. But the lunatics were always surprisingly strong and despite Deb's height advantage, the other woman managed to hold her off.

That's when Deb saw the movement through the window. Dexter running towards her. He was fiddling with the door, desperately trying to get it open. Deb screamed at him. It was already too late for her, she had realized that. But it wasn't too late for the others, and Dexter needed to take care of them. She could see Dex going for the fire alarm and screaming towards the department. But then he returned. For her.

The gas was already starting to fill the room. Deb's lungs were starting to burn. She coughed and doubled over. But the other woman being closer to the source had already succumbed. She was on her knees wheezing. Deb managed to get to the door. She pounded against the window. "GO!" she screamed at Dexter. "Harrison needs you." She managed through the pain in her chest.

Dexter hesitated and backed away. He could see her slide out of view. Deb had sacrificed herself for the others.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Just a few more chapters!

Debra hung up the phone and pressed harder against the accelerator. Fucking Miami traffic. She swerved across two lanes before slamming on her brakes behind some slow motherfucker.

She drummed her thumbs against the steering wheel. She wanted to get there fast and do whatever it took to get Hannah Fucking McKay behind bars for good. She could feel this Arlene woman was about to crack. She was so close to the edge Deb could blow on her and she would start spilling all sorts of dirty little secrets. Deb only needed one.

Deb's eyes drooped a bit. This is what happens when you don't sleep enough, she thought idly. With one hand on the wheel, she reached for her bottle of water and managed to get the top off. She took two big gulps. The water was still cool enough to help wake her up a bit. But maybe it had been in the car too long. There was a bit of an aftertaste. Chalking it up to plasticy goodness Deb took another big gulp.

Here she was, going out of her way to save her brother's ass once again. Why was he incapable of seeing what she was trying to tell him? This bitch didn't just kill. She killed people close to her. She killed her husband, her mentor. Did Dexter not think she was capable of killing him too? If it were her, Deb would never take anything that crazy ass whore gave her to consume. How are you with someone when you can't trust them around your food?!

It wouldn't matter much longer anyways. Deb would handle this. She was handling a fuck lot lately. All thanks to Dexter's little fucked up life. How was this happening? And then she went and did the stupidest thing of all and told him how she feels about him? No, felt. Not feels, felt. Past tense. Very much over. Never fucking ever again. She was broken and fucked up. She knew this. But that was too fucked up even for her life.

Doesn't matter. She wasn't doing this shit out of jealousy or anything. She was doing this to save her brother's life. One day he would get it. One day he would actually fucking thank her for all the shit she's been doing lately. "Gee thanks Deb for not turning me into the police. Thanks for fucking saving my ass from LaGuerta. Thanks for putting skanky ho behind bars before she poisoned me." Deb mumbled to herself as she darted around yet another slow car.

Almost to her destination, she'd be getting off the highway soon. And that sounded very good right now. She needed to stretch her legs. She really had to start going to bed at a decent time. Or maybe start taking some sleeping pills so that she could actually fall asleep once she got into bed. Cause got knows her Xanax was not enough to stop her from thinking about the shitstorm she had been in lately. Well pretty much her whole life, but more so lately. Lately it required medicating.

She rubbed her eyes and shook her head as she felt another wave of tiredness overwhelm her. Deep breathe in and out as she tried to lift the fog around her sense. But she didn't even realize her eyes were still closing. And then they were shut, her grip on the steering wheel loosening.

She didn't see her car swerving into the meridian. She didn't wake up when the tire hit the curb and flipped up and over. She didn't wake up the first time it hit the ground, or the second time when it flipped again. Debra Morgan was completely knocked out when her car burst into flames with her still inside.

The bystanders watched helplessly and wondered who would be mourning the sole occupant who could not be saved.


	7. Chapter 7

Debra Morgan sat on her bed and stared at the pill bottle on her bedside table. Her whole life she had been the fucking good guy. She did the right thing. She defended the weak. She stood up against evil. With one glaring exception.

But now it was all twisted. She had done something so reprehensible there was no going back. There was no being who she was before. She could never be the fucking good guy again. The one thing she valued. The one thing she thought she knew about herself. From here on out she would be no better than anyone else that she had spent all her precious fucking time chasing down.

It would have been bad enough, the deed she did. But the reason she did it…that was worse. That was a fuck lot worse than anything she could imagine. She shouldn't have done it. Especially not to save _him_. That monster that occupied her brother's body. That's who she saved. Because her brother, that man she had admired and loved her whole life? He never existed. So it's kind of hard to save someone who was never real.

Which meant that she had saved a monster. A serial killer more profound and successful than any she had seen, with the possible exception of Trinity. He could wrap it in a nice package and pretend he was doing good. He could sugar coat all of it, but it still stank of rotten blood.

And now that blood was on her hands. It covered every inch of her. She felt it stain and corrupt every part of her soul. So no, there was no going back.

But what was in front of her? What could she possibly be now? If she couldn't be Debra Morgan, the good cop, the good sister, who the fuck was she? She didn't have any answers to that.

Well, there was one answer. A very simple and elegant answer.

She went out to her kitchen, opening the freezer to retrieve the good vodka that she stored away for really bad days. The bottle was mostly full, only a week old.

Returning to the bedroom she sat down again and twisted open the bottle top. She took a big gulp and again considered the pills. Also a full bottle. How fucking convenient.

But first she had something to take care of. She set the bottle on the table top and went out to the living room. She found what she needed, pondered for a moment and completed her task.

Returning to her bed she took another big gulp of vodka, enjoyed how it felt as it went down. She popped open the pill bottle and systematically swallowed them down with the vodka, two at a time, until it was empty.

Deb wondered briefly if she should be so calm and level headed when undertaking this task. Surely given her temperament she should do this in some heat of the moment compulsion. With her emotional outbursts, she would expect to be more…agitated. But no, she was very certain of this. Really, she wished she had done it sooner. She wished she had done it before.

She didn't have much time to think. Everything was working as it should and she could feel her senses lull and dim. Everything around her faded until she felt like a small, insignificant spec. And then she slipped away in the quiet night.

When Dexter found her later, the note was simple. "You did this."


	8. Chapter 8

_This is what I get for trying to cook_. Debra Morgan thought to herself as the panic set in.

A slow Sunday and she had been trying to get her mind off of…everything. For some odd reason Angel had given her a cookbook Christmas before last. She had asked him what he was trying to say, but he just laughed and hugged her. Said something about how she needs to have a life outside of the department. Well fuck, didn't she know.

So a slow Sunday, bored and nothing to do that didn't involve work or Dexter, who she currently did not want to speak with, and that cookbook was practically screaming her name. So she went to the grocery store for the first time in months. She usually ate out, and her beer supply came from the convenience store down the street. But this time, she went to an actual grocery store.

Chicken had seemed like an excellent idea. Couldn't be so hard. No harder than spaghetti from a jar? She brought it all home, read the recipe and realized she had no fucking clue what she was doing. So she went online. Solution for everything.

She found something to tell her how to cut the chicken and clean it. And before she knew it she was a practical fucking pro in her kitchen. She almost had to laugh that this was maybe the third time she had actually cooked in the kitchen since moving into the house more than a year ago. But then she realized how pathetic that actually seemed and stopped laughing.

By the time it was done it actually smelled good. Didn't look too bad either. And a small bite…not a bad flavor. So she settled in at her table alone. She was actually enjoying it too, until her fifth bite. Maybe she was rushing. She didn't really enjoy eating alone, even at home. Or maybe she didn't know how to chew.

She gagged on a piece of something hard. A chicken bone. But instead of pushing it forward, she inhaled. The piece of bone pushed into her windpipe. Sputtering she got up from the table. Panicking is never useful in these situations, so of course that is what she did.

Deb remembered something vaguely about using the back of a chair to Heimlich yourself. She pushed herself over the nearest one. To no avail, she tried again. Nothing and now she was well and truly worried. What the fuck was she supposed to do? How come her brain wasn't helping her figure this shit out?

The corners of her vision were blurring. Flailing, Deb tried one more time, hitting herself in the stomach, on the back. But nothing.

Well fuck. This is how it ends. After all the other fucked up shit. Debra Morgan can fall in love with two serial killers, get shot, get attacked, get poisoned, and survive all of it unscathed. But this is how it happens? A fucking chicken bone? Well fuck.

Deb blacked out and then she was gone. And this is why Debra Morgan shouldn't cook.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This is so fluffy, but I had to. Deb deserves a happy ending and I'm pretty convinced it ain't gonna happen. So I'll just give her one Also, I was intentionally vague about something in particular, I'll leave that to your interpretation.

Eighty seven year old Debra Morgan sat on her back porch. Turns out life had worked out. More than one would expect given circumstances. Because Debra Morgan's circumstances had never been all that promising.

But she had made it to 87! That had to be a fucking miracle, Deb was very sure. She should have died long ago. Several times over, in fact. She could remember so many times it had almost happened. So many times it should have happened. After all, she had been engaged to a serial killer. And that was just the start.

Really looking back it was pretty fucking shocking she was still alive and kicking. But she'd be the first to admit, the second half of her life had been significantly easier than the first. It was better once Dexter was gone. She had taken Harrison in and it had been just the two of them for a long time.

He had turned into a good kid and then a kind man. Nothing like his father, thank god. At least none of those killer tendencies that is. Just the good parts. And even though she couldn't look at Harrison without thinking about her brother, it didn't hurt like before. She didn't miss him the same way anymore. She wondered about him often, but she managed it with more distance than she had thought herself capable of.

Even Harrison would never know the whole story. That was her secret to keep. And sometimes that felt like a burden, but other times she cherished it. To know that she had known Dexter, and still did, better than anyone ever would. Somehow that allowed her to move on in life.

And it had taken a very long time, but she had eventually found love. She never married him, never wanted to, and he seemed ok with that. She didn't want children of her own and he understood. So they had lived a normal, quiet life together once Harrison had gone away to college.

And it was all so much easier than she would have thought. Life had become downright fucking simple. She had managed to get back on track at the department. Had even made it to Chief of Police. First time for a woman in Miami. And she was one of the youngest to boot.

All in all, Debra Morgan had had a good life. And now at eighty fucking seven she had no complaints. After retirement she had managed to do some site seeing. She got to spend more than enough time with Harrison's kids. A nice, happy old age lifestyle.

And now as she sat on her porch and flipped through the newspaper she enjoyed the peace and quiet that her life had turned out to be. She paused her reading when she felt the twinge in her chest. She sat up a bit straighter, took a deep breath. And then suddenly, she slumped back against her chair, the newspaper crumpling in her lap. Debra Morgan was gone.


End file.
